The Agony of Laius
by Complica
Summary: Essay written from the Oedipus tragedy. Mature Themes and knowledge of the play required


AN: This is an essay written for a college freshman English class. Its purpose was to portray one of the characters from Oedipus Rex in a first person inner monologue while viewing the events of the play. I chose the character Laïos, who was murdered before the events of the play. I've also tried to mimic the stanza pattern, aware that the play is a translation and in its English version, has no pattern. Knowledge of the Oedipus tragedy is essential in understanding this work. I do not even begin to claim ownership of the characters or the original work. However, this piece, along with its unique perspective on a character give little to no development in the play, is entirely mine. Do not use it without my permission. ~.~'s indicate quotes from the play.  
  
The Agony of Laïos  
  
Death is such a pitiful fate. The priests that speak  
  
Of the realm of Hades and its ever-burning fires Did it no justice.  
  
Here, one can obtain what was denied him in life, Perfect knowledge of the agony That he has brought upon himself. And here, one must watch, helpless As his wife, his child, his grandchildren By his child's seed and his wife's foolishness Are made to suffer the mistake that started with him.  
  
O' poor Oedipus! I should have drawn your blood myself, Precious one. Is it a greater crime to spill the blood of a child, Still innocent, But fated by the Gods to commit such crimes As would cause heartbreak, a plague to his own people?  
  
Damn the Gods! He was my son, is my son still. Pray, forgive me, I could not shed his blood with my own hand. I was a coward, and now it is the undoing of my line.  
  
My arrogance has brought us to this. A king is not known for his humility. Such a trait is not brought upon him Until he has reached an understanding Of his errors.  
  
God, but do I understand now! Was this your design? To have me understand humility when it is too late to practice it? Too late to save that which I hold dear? Damn you! Damn you a thousand times!  
  
But hush now, old king, Ruiner of your own blood. Your son speaks.  
  
~Sick as you are, not one is as sick as I. Each of you suffers in himself alone His anguish, not another's; but my spirit Groans for the city, for myself, for you.~  
  
My dear boy, The same that should have died at my hands, You do not know the irony of your words, My child. O' if I were but to speak a moment with you. If I were only permitted to move aside On that fated roadway.  
  
You can not know that your pain Will soon be for yourself alone, Yourself and those you hold most dear. You're suffering will be for your Children born of your mother's womb, Your wife/mother, who warms the bed That you yourself were created in, And you dear son, you will suffer the most, Your anguish will be the most lasting. No! I will not sit and hear this. I can not watch with eyes that can do Nothing for my own but weep. You will not make me, O' vengeful God! I will not watch the heartbreak of my blood.  
  
~As for the criminal, I pray to God- Whether it be a lurking thief, or one of a number- I pray that that man's life be consumed in evil and wretchedness. And as for me, this curse applies no less If it should turn out that the culprit is my guest here, Sharing my hearth.  
You have heard the penalty.~  
  
My God, he curses himself. My dear, ignorant son, My murderer does more then your hearth share, But also the bed of my wife, Your wife and mother as one.  
  
Damn the wicked Fates that weave such a horrid strand.  
  
~I say I take the son's part, just as though I were his son, to press the fight for him And see it won!~  
  
O' for a chance to scream. If the void of death were to permit me Just a moment with the son I was denied The chance to love, to nurture, and to succeed me To my throne with a thousand times more honor Then what goes on here.  
  
Was this the wrong? Was it that man should not try To outmaneuver his own fate? That he should Not know enough of his destined course To attempt such a dodge?  
  
Had Oedipus stayed my child, His confusion would never have caused such a disaster. He is not a vile man. His thoughts do not swim with mal trust and ill deeds.  
  
Look, see how he abandons the home he has known In fear of the curse. He would have done the same for me Had he been bought up in my house. I judged him before I knew his mind, With out a shred of evidence Against him, with nothing but the ramblings of a curse Read from ash.  
  
My own son, my blood. The curse is my doing.  
  
See, look there. Watch as my wife supplies my son With the twists of his fate. He suspects, as does she; But neither have the course steered right.  
  
~Am I evil, then? It must be so, Since I must flee from Thebes, yet never again See my own countrymen, my own country, For fear of joining my mother in marriage And killing Polybos, my father.  
Ah, If I was created so, born to this fate, Who could deny the savagery of God?~  
  
Boy, You have the story half right. The king of Thebes was slain by your hand. See the guilt he takes For a crime he has not yet proven to himself? Can a father feel pride for a son he wronged so harshly? Pride, Mixed with the disgust the situation holds, Leaves a bitter taste in my mouth indeed. O' but child, Do you have the situation sewn right in what you say; The Gods are nothing but savages, Savages with the power to make A man's life hell, and bear the pain Of his life on his children.  
  
See again, The messenger has come. Watch my wife now, as she opens Her eyes to the wider view, Sees what she has refused to see, though the Evidence stared her in the face, Slept in her bed, Filled her with his seed. O' Iocastê, were you only not so quick to replace me, So blinded by your own happiness, Would you have seen the truth? Would you have prevented The second of these most horrible sins?  
  
~ Why think of him? Forget this herdsman. Forget it all. This talk is a waste of time.~  
  
O' darling, the truth is carried in a cracked pot. It must one day leak through and spill into the sand For all to see. And all the mud in the world will Not patch the hole you and I have stabbed through our fates, As surely as we stabbed through our boy's ankles.  
  
The shepherd comes; My good slave with the kind heart that only Served to bring pain upon the house he loved. But I can not blame him. The blame is mine. I choose to carry it. I can do that much. The truth Is known through my dear shepherd, saying the words I pleaded to.  
  
My wife calls to me now; I will be here when she joins me.  
  
And I will damn her as I have damned myself. Her guilt will assure me that. But she will have none of the honor that comes In the taking of responsibility. That I will not afford my easily loved wife.  
  
My son though, my poor son. So innocent in all of this you were; Innocent as the day my orders left you on that hillside. Damn the Gods who's curse brought this about.  
  
Do you hear me, Apollo? Rise up with your flaming sun and hear me. Bring your bow to strike me down. A dead king damns you!  
  
Damn Iocastê, and her foolish haste In filling the empty bed of her king. Can a woman be such a fool And yet find the love of two kings so easily? Ignorant of her crime she was, But innocent, she has never been.  
  
And damn myself. Damn my foolish pride. That is it in the end, The pride of a man That thought he could fool the Fates. I hold the blame, And I damn myself the most. 


End file.
